Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wilderness Chapter 30: An Unexpected Complication

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The sky had yet to brighten.

A lantern flickered to life in the backyard of the inn.

Qiangzi, the inn’s attendant, rubbed his bleary eyes and yawned, fumbling about as he helped harness the horses and ready the carriage.

Meanwhile, Zhong Jian and his four companions were brimming with energy. Their packs were already in order, swords and blades strapped on, yet they all, as if by unspoken accord, turned their heads to glance back.

Someone opened the door and stepped out, a longsword in hand.

“Let’s depart—”

Zhong Jian and three companions mounted their horses, while another took the reins of the large wagon. With a crisp snap of the whip, the horses neighed, hooves thundering, wheels rolling—the party sped straight out of the courtyard.

“Give my regards to Manager Jia and Old Xiao—many thanks for their hospitality!”

Yu Ye and Qiangzi clasped their hands in farewell and then walked out of the yard. Zhong Jian’s group was already a good distance away, even the slower wagon now more than a dozen yards off. Lifting his robe with a snap, Yu Ye sprang lightly from his toes, leaping through the air in a succession of bounds before landing atop the wagon.

The driver glanced back and, with a vigorous swing of his arm, cracked the whip hard. The pair of horses surged forward, the wagon trailing a wake of dust behind.

Yu Ye staggered, hastily sitting down, only then noticing the wooden chest beneath him, which rattled and clanged with every jolt of the wagon. The wind howled in his ears, trees along the roadside whizzed past in a blur. Zhong Jian and the others clearly knew the way, pressing on at full gallop. The wagon barreled along as well, though it made his rear suffer considerably. He could only hope this journey to Mount Beiqi would yield some results.

Yet what he sought was not pills or esoteric arts.

He was heading to Mount Beiqi firstly because the ancient tree there was linked to the deaths of more than thirty souls from Yu Family Village; secondly, because that tree was connected to Chen Qi; and thirdly, because Chen Qi was tied to that Foundation Establishment master from Qizhou. All of it seemed, in some way, bound to him, Yu Ye. If he wanted to unravel the truth, he could not overlook any clue.

Another reason was that Zhong Jian was well-informed and knew the location of Deer Call Mountain. Striking a bargain with him was a convenient expedient…

After daybreak, the party pressed on.

As midday drew near, they finally came to a halt.

Yu Ye leapt down from the wagon, dusting himself off, looking quite disheveled. Zhong Jian and his four companions were equally grimy and exhausted. Even the horses were foaming at the mouth, lathered in sweat. Clearly, the long journey had taken its toll—much less the wild, uninterrupted flight for three or four hours.

The morning had shown a trace of rosy clouds, but now the skies were swathed in heavy gray.

Under the gloomy heavens, a high mountain could be glimpsed about a mile off, shrouded in a thick veil of rain and mist, its true form hard to discern.

Could that be Mount Beiqi?

Standing by the roadside, Yu Ye leaned on his sword and gazed into the distance, when suddenly he felt a cool drop on his face—rain beginning to fall from above.

“Quick, to the woods for shelter!” Zhong Jian shouted.

A stand of trees lay nearby.

But before the wagon could reach the woods, the rain was already drumming down in torrents.

Everyone scrambled in haste.

Yu Ye dashed beneath an old tree, his robe quickly drenched through.

“Bah! What rotten luck!”

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“How can we climb the mountain in such a downpour?”

“We’re exhausted, horses and men alike, and there’s nowhere to rest!”

Zhong Jian’s companions hurriedly settled the horses and wagon, each huddling beneath a tree with heads covered, grumbling as the rain poured ever harder.

Wiping the rain from his face, Zhong Jian tried to reassure them, “Bear with it a little longer… Ah!” He sighed, then joked at his own expense, “A pity I haven’t yet reached the Innate realm. If I could shield myself with true energy, what need would I have to fear wind or rain!”

His mention of cultivation piqued someone’s curiosity. “True energy as a shield—could it stop blades and swords as well?”

“Hmph!” Zhong Jian snorted, retorting, “With true energy shielding the body, neither cold nor heat can penetrate, nor wind nor rain. Do you think it couldn’t guard against blades?”

Yu Ye took shelter under another ancient tree a few yards away. Rain trickled down through the branches, at first a gentle patter, quickly becoming a steady stream, and soon a deluge had soaked him to the skin. Just as he despaired at the lack of refuge, he caught snatches of Zhong Jian and his companions’ conversation.

The so-called true energy shield involved channeling inner energy outward to create a barrier, protecting from both internal and external harm—a basic yet useful technique. He had seen Bai Zhi’s fluttering snow remain untouched by her, which was precisely this art. He himself possessed a method for it, but had been too busy with sword cultivation to attempt it.

As Zhong Jian said, this technique was indeed practical. If so, shouldn’t Jiao Ying have mentioned it?

Yu Ye closed his eyes, standing silently in the rain.

He searched through the techniques stored in his sea of consciousness, memorizing the instructions for the energy shield. As he pondered the incantation, his mind drifted to the woman residing within the Jiao Core.

After tossing him the cultivation manual, Jiao Ying had shown only ridicule or cold indifference; even when called upon with spirit sense, she ignored him. If only he could gain her guidance, he would not have progressed so slowly.

While Yu Ye grumbled inwardly, he suddenly opened his eyes.

“Someone’s coming—”

Through the downpour came the urgent beat of hooves.

“Something has happened at Mount Beiqi. It seems heroes from all sides have gathered. Be on your guard!” Zhong Jian warned.

With his words, two of his companions ran through the rain to the wagon, opening the wooden chest and drawing out two crossbows and several bundles of arrows.

At that moment, a dozen sturdy horses burst through the mist and rain, perhaps also seeking shelter, only to halt at the edge of the woods. One rider peered at the wagon and horses within, muttering to himself, “Well now, bringing a wagon—planning to loot Mount Beiqi clean, are they?” He calmed his horse, scanning the woods, and called out, “Who’s there? Could it be Old Feng the Seventh—?”

“What, you recognize me? And who might you be?”

Yu Ye was taken aback by the reply—it was Zhong Jian who answered.

Wasn’t he Zhong Jian? How had he become Old Feng the Seventh? If he was Feng the Seventh, then who had died before? Or perhaps, he thought, same name, different men?

“Ha! Old Feng the Seventh colluding with mountain bandits and the Daoist sects, burning and looting, amassing a fortune—now you show up with a wagon to plunder. Who else could it be but you, you greedy scoundrel? Today’s your unlucky day, running into me, Old Hu the Chief—”

“Brother Hu, this is a misunderstanding…”

Zhong Jian seemed to recognize the speaker and tried to explain.

But the dozen riders had already charged into the woods, Old Hu the Chief bearing down on him. Battling wind and rain, his footing slick, vision blurred, he cried out, “Brothers—!”

His two companions had long been on guard. Raising their crossbows, they loosed their bolts. The bowstrings twanged, two figures fell screaming from their horses.

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“It’s an ambush! Kill these bandits!”

Old Hu roared, his horse leaping, blade in hand, charging straight at Zhong Jian.

Zhong Jian drew his sword and parried with all his might, but he could not withstand the onrushing horse. With a metallic clash, his sword was sent flying. As he staggered backward, a cold light flashed down toward his head. With nowhere to dodge, he was forced to roll aside. He narrowly escaped the deadly blade, but could not avoid the iron hooves. There was a sickening crack as his leg broke, and he fell, screaming, into the mud.

His two companions fared even worse. After their ambush, before they could fire again, both were trampled and cut down amid a flurry of hooves and blades. The remaining two tried to flee, but were swiftly surrounded.

Of the six who had come from Tianmen Town, five had met disaster.

One remained, also in peril.

Yu Ye stood with his back to a tree, sword in hand, as four or five horses charged at him.

He had never imagined that, after coming so far to Mount Beiqi and reaching its very foot, calamity would suddenly strike. Why did Zhong Jian call himself Feng the Seventh and strike first? Why was Old Hu so relentless? The confusion left him utterly bewildered.

But as he pondered, a rider closed in. Perhaps wary of hitting the tree, the horse veered aside; the rider leaned out and slashed at Yu Ye with a vicious stroke.

In the past, Yu Ye would have fled in terror. But now, he neither ran nor dodged—indeed, there was a flicker of anger, or perhaps, he finally had the strength to be angry.

Yu Ye stretched out his arms, drew his sword, and struck upward. With a ringing clash, sparks flew as the blade was sent spinning into the air, nearly unseating its wielder. Yu Ye did not retaliate, but twisted aside to avoid the panicked horse, kicked off the tree behind him, and soared through the air. More horses charged in, blades hacking wildly. Before he even landed, he tapped his sword against the ground, splashing mud as he propelled himself forward.

“Yu Ye! Save me—!”

Zhong Jian was still dragging himself through the mud, desperately trying to evade Old Hu’s horse and blade. Suddenly, seeing a figure sweep through the air three feet above the ground, he cried out in despair for help.

It was indeed Yu Ye, sword scabbard in one hand, blade in the other, his figure light and arms outstretched like a great bird, flying straight toward Zhong Jian.

He meant to save him.

But Old Hu would not let this stand, abandoning Zhong Jian to charge at Yu Ye with his blade.

Yu Ye’s momentum was blocked; he lost his lightness and crashed into the mud with a slap. At that very instant, iron hooves and a blade descended. Just as he seemed doomed to share Zhong Jian’s fate, Yu Ye suddenly swept up his sword in a flash of cold light, severing the horse’s hoof and sending the blade flying. As Old Hu reeled in shock, Yu Ye lunged at Zhong Jian, dragged him from the mud, and ran toward the edge of the woods. The moment they emerged, they found themselves surrounded by more than a dozen horsemen.

Zhong Jian, his wounded leg unable to support him, could only lean on Yu Ye’s shoulder. Taking in the scene, he said helplessly, “Brother Yu, don’t worry about me—save yourself while you can—”

“Hmph! None of you are getting away!”

Old Hu and a companion emerged from the woods, each now armed with a crossbow.

Zhong Jian, anxious and furious, protested, “Old Hu, look carefully! I am not Feng the Seventh—”

Old Hu leapt onto a boulder, looming over them. “You may not be Feng the Seventh, but you’re a bandit all the same.” Raising his crossbow, he declared, “Today, there will be no mercy—”

“Bah!”

Zhong Jian spat in secret, urging in a low voice, “Brother Yu, there’s no time—run—”

But Brother Yu, half a head shorter, stood tall and silent, unmoving…